by Joanna Rees
‘I’m serious,’ she said.
Elodie’s expression flattened. Her smile died and she let out a growl of frustration. ‘Luc warned me you’d do this. He said you’d be jealous because you’re still single. I didn’t believe him. I told him you’d be happy for me.’ Tears choked her voice. ‘I love him, Savvy. Why can’t you just be happy for me?’
‘He’s not who you think he is,’ she said.
‘How can you say that?’ Elodie’s voice rose. ‘You don’t know him. You don’t know anything about him. How dare you judge him when—’
‘I slept with him,’ Savvy interrupted. Her words were calm. Matter-of-fact. But they couldn’t disguise the horrible crawling sense of guilt and self-disgust she felt inside.
Or the betrayal.
‘Oh, this is so low,’ Elodie hissed. ‘So fucking low. You’d tell a lie like that at a time like this?’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘You are,’ Elodie yelled. ‘You lie about everything. You’re a drug addict. Your head’s full of shit.’
She turned away and went quite still. But even though Savvy could no longer see her face, she knew she was listening.
‘I had no idea how you felt about him at the time, Elodie, I promise. I thought you were just friends . . .’ The words were making Savvy sick. She hated hurting her sister like this. ‘That fundraiser we went to . . . at La Paris . . . the one Luc organized. You went home because you weren’t feeling well? It was that night. Luc and I . . . we . . . I spent the night with him.’
‘No.’ Elodie still wouldn’t face her. Her voice was a growl. ‘You were with Marcus . . . I know you were.’
‘I was waiting for Luc. To be with him.’
‘No . . .’
Savvy’s eyes were full of tears. ‘It was me he wanted, Elodie. Not you. Right from the start. It was never you.’
Savvy got up and reached out to touch her sister, but the second her hand made contact with the pink cashmere dress, it stretched taut across Elodie’s back.
‘Take it back!’ Elodie screamed, finally twisting round to face her. ‘Take it back! Take it back!’
Without warning, she punched Savvy in the face. Savvy staggered backwards, crashing on to the white table, sending the photos smashing to the floor. She put her hand to her nose. Her fingers were wet with blood.
Savvy tried not to panic as she struggled to her feet. She hoped this was it. It was over. But just one look at Elodie told her it wasn’t. Her fists were bunched, her jaw set. Retribution blazed in her eyes. They hadn’t fought – really fought – since they were kids. Savvy had long ago learned that when she got angry, she turned steely and cold, like ice. But Elodie . . . Elodie was all fire.
‘Calm down,’ Savvy said, holding out a shaking hand. ‘Please.’
She wasn’t going to fight Elodie. Didn’t want to. And besides, she couldn’t. Elodie had been taking kickboxing lessons for ten years. She’d kick Savvy’s ass.
Elodie wasn’t listening. She hurled herself at Savvy, screaming. Savvy’s ears rang out. The room reeled as she tried twisting away, covering her head to defend herself. Another blow caught the back of her head. Savvy collapsed on all fours.
‘Admit you’re a liar. Say it,’ Elodie screamed, towering over her.
Savvy wished she could. She wished she could say it and mean it. That she could undo the past and make this all go away.
She wished she could lie too. Lying would be the easy way out. All she had to do was tell Elodie what she wanted to hear and all this would end.
But she’d acted like a coward once already this evening. She wasn’t going to do it again. She was going to do what she should have done to begin with. She was going to tell her the truth.
‘Luc bought you a watch,’ she said. ‘He told you he’d bought it in New York, but I chose it from the hotel shop right here in Vegas. You can check the receipt.’
Savvy’s nose was bleeding heavily now. She felt dizzy and sick. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and waited for another blow which she knew surely must now come.
It never did.
Savvy opened her eyes. Elodie was backing away from her to the top of the stairs. She sank down, huddled on the floor. She had her arms wrapped around her torso, as if she were freezing.
Savvy was frightened now. She’d seen smack addicts going cold turkey before. She knew what a junkie looked like losing it. But there was something ten times worse about a sane, normal, intelligent girl like Elodie cracking up.
Savvy swept her hair away from her face, smearing the blood across her cheek with her arm. She moved towards Elodie cautiously.
‘Please, El. Listen to me. I thought you and Luc would break up and you’d never need to know. Because he was only going out with you to get back at me. And I thought he’d give up the game, not do this . . .’ Elodie was still silent. Savvy prayed she was getting through. ‘He doesn’t love you. Don’t you see? Even though he’s asked you to marry him. He only loves himself. And no marriage could survive a secret that big. And even if you knowing means that you and Daddy never speak to me again, then that’s still better than you marrying Luc . . .’
Savvy would make it up to Elodie. No matter what. She’d find a way. Whatever it took. And Elodie was beautiful and smart. She would find someone who’d respect her and make her happy in a way Luc never could.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
But as Savvy reached out to touch her, Elodie kicked out. She smashed her foot into Savvy’s jaw.
Instinctively, Savvy kicked back, just as Elodie was getting to her feet. She caught her hard on the shin.
For a moment, Elodie’s arms circled in the air, as if she was trying to fly. Then she toppled sideways off the top step, through the space where the glass banister should have been.
There was a split second of absolute silence, then a sickening crack.
Savvy dragged herself across the floor and looked down.
Elodie was lying twenty feet below in the hallway. Her beautiful blue eyes were wide open.
A halo of blood began spreading out around her head, seeping into the grooves of the spiral marble pattern.
Blood they’d once shared in the same womb.
Blood that bound them.
Blood that now told Savvy her twin sister was dead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sky was a cloudless, endless deep blue as far as the eye could see. Lois gripped the plush orange leather seat as the sleek black powerboat sped away from the jetty.
She couldn’t help giggling with exhilaration as they skimmed effortlessly across the crystal-clear water. Tenzin, the captain, who’d greeted her this afternoon, had made no secret of the fact that his boss’s latest toy, whilst small and compact, was still worth several million dollars. As they reached full throttle, Lois pulled a strand of hair from across her mouth and leaned back, grinning, enjoying the sensation of the wind buffeting her face. It was a pity they had only a few kilometres to travel. This level of style and speed was proving to be quite a blast.
She was heading for the largest and, rumour had it, most exotic of all the private man-made islands in the Arabian Gulf.
In the late afternoon light, Dubai’s ultra-modern skyline seemed other-worldly. And with each passing metre between her and the city, Lois felt more and more out of her comfort zone, as if this were happening to someone else.
She felt more than her fair share of guilt. It was one thing not to live with Cara, or to only get to see her one weekend a month, but Lois had always found comfort in the fact that she was in the same country at least.
So this felt as if she’d severed some kind of tie. But she knew it was her own problem. Cara didn’t even know Lois was abroad. She hadn’t had time to tell her.
It had all been so surreal, flying into Dubai International Airport in Roberto’s private jet before being whisked in a gorgeous white Rolls-Royce to the spectacular sail-shaped Burj Al Arab hotel, the seven-star hotel in wh
ich she’d just enjoyed two blissful days of luxury.
The pretty yellow floral dress she wore fluttered around her knees and she wondered, not for the first time, whether she looked too casual. She’d been assured that the dress code in the daytime was informal. But the nights . . . the nights were going to be totally different. She thought about the sequinned Christian Lacroix evening dress in her luggage and smiled to herself, remembering how Roberto had bamboozled her into this luxury trip by plying her with a to-die-for wardrobe and a barrage of compliments.
She needed a break, he’d told her gently. A highly paid one. She was to think of this as a working vacation. A personal favour, he’d called it. Because he had no one else he could send. She was his most treasured member of staff.
The Tycoons’ Tournament was a strictly private annual gambling get-together that Jai Shijai organized for his mega-rich contacts in the Middle East. A poker game for those who couldn’t indulge their passion due to the strict anti-gaming laws, particularly in Dubai. Among the players were high-powered businessmen, philanthropists and developers. And Chinese politicians too, albeit in an extremely unofficial capacity, Roberto had explained.
This could be a much-needed foot in the door. After the shooting at the Enzo Vegas and the barrage of bad publicity afterwards, Roberto Enzo had lost the concession in Shangri-La.
It had taken a lot to lure Jai Shijai back to the Enzo Vegas. But he had come back and now considered Anthony, Guido and Rob, three of their most experienced dealers, to be his lucky mascots, and had requested them at his private game.
And who better than Lois to oversee it all and cover the security, Roberto had explained. The cash stakes being carried by the players would be substantial. They’d all obviously have their own bodyguards, but Jai Shijai was keen to bring in his own people to ensure his guests’ comfort and safety. Besides, Jai Shijai had mentioned a few times that he wished to meet Lois in person.
So eventually she’d relented, secretly delighted to accept Roberto’s generous offer. She did need a break. And could she really live with herself if she passed up the opportunity to meet someone as mysterious and intriguing as Jai?
As the powerboat drummed across the waves, she shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but she still felt a twinge of pain where her scar pulled. She touched the silver St Christopher pendant on her neck.
It had been a gift from Josh Fernandez when he visited her in hospital after the shooting. She’d thought that he’d been injured too, but the blood on his shirt had been her own. She’d completely shielded him from harm and he’d walked away shaken but unscathed.
When she was fit enough, Lois had tried to explain that in saving his life she’d only been doing her job, but Fernandez wouldn’t hear of it. She was the bravest person he’d ever met, he told her. He’d taken off his St Christopher and given it to her, telling her to remember that she would always be able to rely on him. No matter what, no matter where, she could call in a favour whenever she needed one.
Lois remembered it like it was yesterday. It might only have been two years, but the shooting at the Enzo Vegas and what had happened afterwards? Well, that craziness Lois would never forget.
The Hamilton fight would have hit the world headlines anyway, but the shooting sent the story stratospheric. There’d been a media frenzy, the likes of which Lois hoped she’d never see again. And most of it had focused on her.
She’d been hailed as the woman who’d saved the senator. And once she was out of danger, people couldn’t get enough of the Lois Chan phenomenon.
Even while she was still in hospital, profile pieces had started running in all the national papers. Magazines pestered Roberto’s PA to book up fashion shoots. Sponsorship offers and publishing contracts were hustled her way. Even Oprah had been in contact.
At first, Lois had been embarrassed and confused by all the attention, amazed that ordinary people whom she’d never met had sent flowers, gifts, cards and emails from all over the country.
It had been hard not to be dazzled, especially after Fernandez had been so openly generous with his praise on TV. Lois found herself suddenly elevated to a role model, a champion of undervalued, highly trained staff everywhere.
Roberto had even hired her a PR expert to manage it all. To push the attention away. Because that was what Lois had wanted most of all. Time to recover. Time to spend with her daughter. And the privacy that seemed so precious the moment she’d lost it.
She’d turned down everything, apart from Roberto’s offer of a promotion. But even Lotty Rosenbaum, the doyenne of reputation management, hadn’t been able to keep a lid on everything.
She hadn’t figured on Michael Hudson.
Lois was still astounded at the audacity of what Hudson had done. She knew that, deep down, she’d never get over it. In a high-profile smear campaign – one designed to lose Roberto his chance in Shangri-La – he’d launched a savage attack on the Enzo Vegas, calling into question all of its security procedures and the staff who ran them. It was time to stop focusing on the fact that Lois had saved the senator and time to start looking at how on earth a mentally unstable and fanatical lowlife such as weapons expert Vic Benzir, known to have a personal grudge against Fernandez, had been allowed into the arena in the first place.
Hudson had gone on to expound his theory of exactly how it had happened. He portrayed Roberto as a bumbling, emotional old fool who didn’t have the first clue about the responsibilities of big business. He’d painted an exaggerated picture of unhappy management and inter-staff rivalries.
But he hadn’t stopped there. He’d gone on to question Lois’s personal integrity. Who was she to be a national hero? She’d been expelled from the SFPD for a mistake that had cost a fellow cop his life. Was she a fit person to be in charge of thousands of people’s safety, on a night like Fight Night?
Not in Hudson’s opinion. He’d dug even deeper, revealing a sordid picture of Lois’s childhood and how her father’s gambling had spiralled into a world of shady debt. Her mother had been hounded by photographers in San Francisco.
Headlines followed about her Miki’s murder. None of them had mentioned the sweet, intelligent boy that he’d been. Only that Lois Chan’s kid brother had joined the Triad gang in the aftermath of their father’s death. Nor did they mention that Miki had joined up solely to find out who had hounded their father into an early grave. Instead, they portrayed him as a violent hoodlum. A gang thug who deserved everything he got. No better than the shooter in the arena, Benzir.
And just when Lois thought it couldn’t get any worse, they’d got to Cara. Harassing outside the school gates. Door-knocking her at home.
Lois winced, her mind as always coming back to how much she had to do to mend her relationship with her daughter.
But after lots of negotiation with her ex-husband Chris, Lois had finally persuaded him to extend their allowed time so that she could take Cara to San Francisco to visit her mother. It would be Lois and Cara’s first vacation together since the shooting.
And there, in just a few weeks’ time away from Chris and Mary-Sue, Lois could start to undo the wrongs that Michael Hudson had done to her daughter. If the shooting had taught Lois anything, it was that life was too short for her to be estranged from the person she loved the most. She had to get Cara back, no matter what it took.
And Hudson? Well, she’d have to bide her time on that one. Not a day went past without Lois feeling the bitter injustice of what he’d done. A situation only made worse because Hudson himself seemed to be going from strength to strength. The building of his monstrosity of a hotel and casino complex in Shangri-La, El Palazzo, well under way.
She told herself that it was just business, that what Hudson did shouldn’t concern her. But it did. He’d made it personal.
Sure, she could play him at his own game and point a finger at Hudson’s family. It would be easy to spin his seemingly callous attitude to his daughter’s death, or Savvy Hudson’s recent and notorious spiral into
shame and disgrace, but it would make her no better than Hudson himself.
No, Lois would keep her dignity. She’d find a way to prove that he hadn’t cowed her or beaten her down.
‘Excuse me, Ms Chan?’
The growl of the boat’s engine lowered to a soft purr as they slowed.
The private island was coming into view. It was surrounded by the whitest of beaches and a coral reef. It was larger than Lois had expected, at least half a kilometre across, and dense with green trees and lush palms. Hard to believe that this was all so recently manmade. It looked so solid – as if it had always been here.
But what really blew Lois away, as they got closer, was the sheer perfection of the scene before her. It was like a film set. Although this was in the middle of the Gulf, it really was like arriving on the Chinese mainland.
It immediately reminded her of the balsa-wood model of a Chinese palace that her uncle Ed had in a glass case at the front of his restaurant back home in San Francisco. Because nestled in the middle of the island was a palace – a giant wood and glass building, complete with an ornate red and gold roof and a series of fancy balconies. Behind it was a red pagoda, glowing in the sun, stretching up to the sky.
As they pulled up alongside the jetty, Lois saw that the palace was surrounded by exquisitely manicured gardens.
And all of it belonged to just one man. Jai Shijai.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Deep in the heart of the Central American rainforest in a remote corner of Belize, Peace River Lodge was an exclusive rehab clinic whose alumni included Hollywood actors, politicians and infamous rock stars.
Secluded, private and discreet, the complex was set in several hundred acres of unspoilt forest and, for those in the know, its tough love policy had a reputation of working where other programmes failed.
Savvy sat on the veranda of her private bungalow, on the rattan rocking chair, watching the thick, hot tropical rain cascade from the thatched roof. Rivulets of water ran along the shiny slate path, the overhanging fronds of the swaying palm trees nearly touching the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain hammered on the roof like a relentless drum.